I Would Write Of The Universal, Not

I Liked Human Beings, But I Did Not Love Human Nature.

Idealism, That Gaudy Coloring Matter Of Passion, Fades When It Is Brought Beneath The Trenchant White Light Of Knowledge. Ideals, Like Mountains, Are Best At A Distance.

To Mourn Was Distressing, But To Endeavor To Mourn And Fail Was Worse Than Distress.

It Is Difficult To Deal Successfully, He Decided, With A Woman Whose Feelings Cannot Be Hurt.

I Suppose I Am A Born Novelist, For The Things I Imagine Are More Vital And Vivid To Me Than The Things I Remember.